Jean Plaidy (15 page)

I looked forward more and more to our encounters, and I believed she did also.

And so I led her to talk of her son.

“My son!” She said the words with something like adoration. “Anne Neville, there is nothing so wonderful in the world as holding one's own child in one's arms. One passes through a painful ordeal, and then one hears the cry of a child…your own child…a child that has grown within you and is part of you.”

“Yes,” I said. “I understand that.”

“I had thought it was a blessing that would be denied me. My son Edward was not born until eight years after my marriage.”

“And all that time you longed for a child.”

“All kings must have sons. I thank God daily for mine. Ever since he was born I have planned for his future…for what would be good for him. Now I am proud of him. He will be Edward the Fifth of England, and when I see the crown placed on his head, that will compensate me for all my sufferings.”

“Kings seem to have troublous lives,” I commented.

She gave me a scornful look. “A king has his destiny to fulfill; and those who turn him from his throne should be punished with death. How well I remember my joy. I could not believe it. Of course, in the beginning I had hoped, I had longed and prayed…but I had thought, Henry being as he was, that I should never have a child. You would not understand my joy.”

“I think I do,” I said.

“Of course, there were my enemies. York.” She laughed with glee. “Imagine York's feelings when he heard. This child would block his way to the throne. So they started rumors. The child could not be Henry's, they said. How could Henry beget a child? But you are too young to understand. What did I care? I laughed at them. I was exalted. I was the mother of a king-to-be. Oh, that was a wonderful time.”

“I can imagine how you felt when he arrived.”

“There was great trouble before that. It must have been two months before the birth when Henry showed signs of his first illness. It was a great sadness, a great anxiety. That should have been a time for rejoicing. We did not know what ailed him. It was only later that we learned. He could not move. He lay in his bed…remembering nothing. It was the beginning of his strangeness. He was unaware that he had a son.”

“Poor King Henry.”

“That affliction came through his mother—the daughter of Charles the Mad of France. They say such illness is one that can be passed on. The mother escapes but she gives it to her son.”

“How very sad.”

“It is at the root of all our troubles. These people would never have dared…if Henry had not been…”

She could not bring herself to say the word insane. I reached out and touched her hand. She took mine and held it briefly. I was always moved by these outward signs of affection between us. She was beginning to accept me as her daughter-in-law in spite of the fact that I belonged to the hated Neville clan.

It was on that occasion when she told me about the Tudors.

“I should have liked to have known Henry's mother,” she said. “She was French so we should have had something in common. She was a lady with a strong will, though outwardly she was very gentle. She had a very unhappy childhood, largely due to her father's madness and her wanton mother. For a time she and her many brothers and sisters lived in abject poverty. That was while her father suffered his periodic bouts of insanity. I believe when he was well and took up his duties of kingship that was changed. But poor children, it went on for much of their early childhood. Then she married Henry, the great conqueror of France, and it seemed that everything was going well for her, until her husband died and she was left with a little baby…my Henry. Henry often talks to me about his mother, and always with affection. It is because of her that he has been so good to the Tudors.”

“Who are the Tudors?” I asked.

“Oh, they are worthy men. They have always supported the House of Lancaster. Of course they would. Are they not Henry's half-brothers? You see, when King Henry the Fifth died, Katharine, my Henry's mother, was considered to be of little importance and her son had his own household—governesses and nurses and so on—and was taken right out of her hands.”

“I always think that is cruel to children.”

“Kings and queens have their duties and they are not in the nursery. Katharine made a life for herself with Owen Tudor. That is where the Tudors come in. It is a true story of romantic love lived in secret.”

I listened avidly to what she told me of the widowed queen who had fallen in love with the humble Welsh squire and had married him…some said; others were sure that she had not; but they were able to live together slightly removed from the court and so enjoyed a happy life with their children until they were discovered by the Duke of Gloucester, brother of King Henry the Fifth, who destroyed their happiness. Owen Tudor was arrested on a charge of treason and the queen separated from the children and sent to Bermondsey Abbey where she died.

“What a sad end to their story,” I said.

“Life is often like that, as doubtless you will learn.”

“And what happened to Owen Tudor?”

“He escaped from prison. Henry was good to his half-brothers and they have been loyal to him. They have served the House of Lancaster well. Owen was taken prisoner at Mortimer Cross and beheaded in the marketplace at Hereford on the orders of that man who calls himself King Edward the Fourth.”

“Why do there have to be these wars? Why cannot everyone be happy!”

“Because there are rights to be fought for.” She was fierce and angry again, and her anger was for the loyal Tudor who had lost his head, and I could not help remembering her glee when she had talked of the Duke of York's head with the paper crown. I recoiled from her. That was typical of our relationship. I felt repelled one moment and drawn to her the next. I suppose her feelings for me were somewhat similar. There were times when she remembered I was a member of that hated family, and at others she saw me as a poor helpless girl, buffeted by fate—just as she herself must have been at my age.

War was a futile and terrible operation. Richard would not agree with me; nor would my father. Wars brought wealth and power to some, and it seemed that was what most men wanted.

One day when I was with the Queen we heard the sound of approaching riders. We rose and went to the window. Two men were galloping up to the castle. They had clearly ridden far.

I saw the queen catch her breath and without a word she hurried to the door and went down the staircase. I followed her.

The men leaped from the horses and came toward us. They were dishevelled and travel-stained but I knew before they spoke that they were the bearers of good news.

“Madam…my lady.” They knelt to the queen. “The day is won.”

There was ecstasy in the queen's face. It was clear that my father had succeeded.

The messengers were brought in. They must be refreshed, but first we must hear just a little more…enough to reassure the queen that the victory was secure.

“Your Grace…my lady…when the earl landed the south fell into his hands with ease. Edward, who called himself king, was in the north subduing a rebellion there.”

“And what of Edward now?” asked Margaret.

“He is in flight, my lady. They say he has left the country.”

“He would not come here, I trow,” said Margaret grimly.

“It is believed he is on his way to Holland.”

“And the Duke of Gloucester?” I heard myself saying.

“The Duke of Gloucester, my lady?” said the messenger puzzled. “He would be with his brother, I doubt not.”

“The imposter has been truly routed?” asked the queen. “There is no doubt of this?”

“No doubt, my lady. No doubt at all. The earl has ridden through the streets of London, King Henry with him.”

She clasped her hands and smiled at the messengers.

“You have ridden far, my good men. You shall rest a while. You shall be refreshed with food. Then you shall talk more to us.”

She summoned one of the guards and instructed him to look after the men who had ridden so far with the good news and were now clearly exhausted.

Then she turned to me. “The waiting is over. Your father has fulfilled his promise to me. And now, my child, you shall be the future Queen of England.”

I could not share her exultation, but she was too happy to notice.

I think that must have been one of the happiest moments of her life.

         

Later I heard more of what had happened. Edward had been betrayed by the man who had been his most ardent supporter—my uncle John Neville. My father had often referred to John as one of the few Nevilles who had been a traitor to the family.

When my father had turned against Edward, John had maintained his loyalty to the king. He said he had sworn to serve Edward and would not break his vows and so could not follow his brother—mighty as he was—in this campaign to replace Edward with Henry.

Such loyalty from a Neville should have been well rewarded, but Edward had made a great mistake when he had slighted John Neville. One would have thought that the very fact of John's being a Neville would have made Edward appreciate his loyalty. But this Edward had failed to do. John saw himself as Lord of the North, holding it for Edward. Edward's mistake was to take the earldom of Northumberland from John and bestow it on Henry Percy, compensating John with the Marquisate of Montagu. John Neville considered this gross ingratitude after he had turned his back on his family to support the king. It was the deciding factor, the turning point, for, Warwick being in charge of the armies in the south, John only had to turn his army against the king to capture the north. This he did and Edward's army, realizing that he was on the point of total defeat, deserted him. Thus he lost the day and had no recourse but to flee the country.

My father, having unmade Edward, then proceeded to make Henry king.

         

For so long we had waited. Now was the time for us to return to England. I was deeply disturbed. The one thought dominating my mind was my marriage to the Prince of Wales, which would now be celebrated.

We must leave Amboise for Paris, said the queen. There we should meet Edward and we must make plans without delay.

I wondered if she noticed how depressed I was. She might have expected me to rejoice with her at my father's victory. She was almost reconciled to accepting me as a daughter-in-law. I had managed to please her, perhaps she thought I was quiet and unassuming and would be docile.

There were two thoughts dominating my mind. I should have to marry Edward in England, so there would be a little respite. I tried to put that out my mind, telling myself there would be some time before it could happen. There would have to be a great deal of preparation. The other thought was Richard. What had happened to him? Where was he now and what was he thinking? How long would he and Edward be content to stay in Holland? They would be certain to make an attempt to win back the throne.

I went to find the messengers to see if they had any news about Richard. I could not have asked such questions in the queen's presence.

I found them in the kitchen. There was a plate of bread and meat before each of them.

They rose as I entered and I bade them be seated. I told them that I did not want to interrupt their meal for they must be hungry and weary.

“'Tis less wearying bringing good news, my lady,” said one.

“Aye,” agreed the other. “There's always a good welcome for good news.”

“How are the people taking the change at home?” I asked. “I always heard they were very fond of King Edward.”

“Aye, twas so, my lady. He is such a bonny man and loved by the ladies, and the men too have a place in their hearts for him. But the battle went against him and he lost…and now he's gone.”

“Who went with him?”

“A few of his friends.”

“His brother, the Duke of Gloucester, of course.”

“Oh aye. Certainly the little duke. He's always with his brother. A fine man, Edward. Every inch a king.”

“And what about King Henry?”

“Poor King Henry. He has been treated as no king should be. I was there at the time…long ago it seems now…when they brought him through the Chepe and Cornhill to the Tower. They had bounded his legs to a horse and put straw in his hair, and jeered at him as he passed along. That was no way to treat a king. People remember, but they say Henry bears no grudge. He's a good man…bit of a saint, they say. Should have been a monk not a king. He might have had some peace then. I doubt he wants to be king. I reckon he'd be happier with Edward on the throne…if only he was treated right.”

“And you really think they have been illtreating him?”

“I saw him before I left…riding through the streets, king again. The bishop and the archbishop, brother of the Earl of Warwick, went down to the Tower to bring him out. Those who were with him said they found him dirty and neglected…like a shadow, they said, or a sack of wool—and as mute as a crowned calf. So they dressed him up in fine clothes and set a crown on his head and they took him to Westminster. They'd made a king of him. But he did not look like one and the people were all talking of King Edward.”

My feelings were mixed. I had been so sorry for the queen and now she was in a state of bliss; but I was fearful for myself because this turn of events had brought me closer to what I dreaded more than anything in the world.

And at the back of my mind was the thought of Richard. I could picture his sorrow and anger at seeing his brother driven from the throne. My heart was with Richard, but it was my own father who had brought this sorrow in him. I had been brought up to revere my father. I had been told many times that he was the greatest man in the kingdom. But I loved Richard: I had been enchanted by his brother Edward and I could easily understand why the people loved him and wanted him for their king. How would they like his going and seeing in his place one who was like a sack of wool and a crowned calf?